


piyo-nii's kurokura tumblr dump

by piyo_nii



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Black Whale Arc, Blink and you'll miss it, Brief Explicit Content, Church Sex, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Fluff, International Kissing Day 2018, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Near Death, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Self-Hatred, Succession Contest Arc, That's it, Vomiting, this is literally a dump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piyo_nii/pseuds/piyo_nii
Summary: Literally, that's it. This is going to be a dumping ground for the incoherent babbles I spit out on Tumblr, for friends, etc. Tags will be updated accordingly. Each short story will vary in length, and they're all going to revolve around KuroKura becauseI'm actual trash.ch. 5: like i mean something- His anger may linger, but it’s his regret that haunts him. It’s his rekindled hope, his newfound will to live that frightens him. And when his timer reaches zero, Kurapika’s corpse will sing of all he had foolishly given up, a vengeance that had swallowed him because he thought he wasn’t enough.





	1. worship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatfetus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatfetus/gifts), [kloffel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kloffel), [Chocoholic221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/gifts).



> Hi, so 45616156654 years have passed and I still have writer's block, lol? I'm not dead, I swear! But anyway, if any of y'all have requests, I'd be totally happy to hear 'em! Feel free to shoot me a message! ♥

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo worships his greatest sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something for the hooligans in the krkr discord. Seriously, y'all are terrible, and I love you ;;;;;;;

_Based on a[sinful, sinful comic](https://twitter.com/kloffel/status/1009306510088736768) by the lovely [@kloffel on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kloffel). **I highly recommend reading it first!**_

* * *

_"Tell me your sin.”_

There is  _art_ in the way the light plays off of his skin, reds and yellows and greens splashing his damp flesh like flecks of paint on a fresh canvas.

There is  _music_  in the steady staccato of his stuttered breaths, in his faint moans and reluctant whimpers. Chrollo  _knows_  that he has more to say, that he’s keeping the truth pressed against the roof of his mouth, but Kurapika is incredibly stubborn. He’ll snarl and fight and rebel until he turns blue in the face.

Kurapika’s back arches as two fingers become three, and Chrollo decides that he doesn’t  _need_  to hear actual words, not when Kurapika subconsciously melts under his searing touch like so. He doesn’t need verbal confirmation to know that Kurapika craves him like a man dying of thirst.

He’ll confess someday. As obstinate as he is, Kurapika is a terrible liar, and Chrollo is nothing if not persistent.

For now, he’ll count Kurapika’s choked little sound as a tiny victory. A simple curl of his fingers is enough to elicit a low  _“You”_  from Kurapika’s chapped lips, which Chrollo quickly remedies with a harsh, wet kiss.

And it is absolutely indescribable, how Kurapika’s distant, cloudy gaze burns with the intensity of a thousand suns, lighting a fire inside of him which, interestingly enough, is becoming increasingly difficult to control with each passing day.

Chrollo is hardly a religious man, but with Kurapika splayed out so invitingly, cheeks flushed, legs wide open and  _ready_ , he’d be a fool to pass up what could only be considered a blessing from some higher being. No ordinary human could be so tantalizingly alluring, so goddamned  _hot_  and  _tight_  and  _delicious_ , and if Kurapika moans like that again, Chrollo  _swears_  he’ll establish a faith that revolves around the blond-haired vixen who's writhing beneath him.

Kurapika looks like he’s about to say something, but a rough thrust of his hips is enough to silence him. Just this once, Chrollo wants to revel in this moment and forget about the weight of Kurapika’s unquenchable fury on his shoulders.

Grabbing the blond’s waist with enough force to bruise, Chrollo surges forward and buries himself to the hilt. “And mine, you,” he murmurs into Kurapika’s ear, low enough for the other to barely hear, loud enough for the words to echo through their bones.


	2. three times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me three times..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> low-key inspired by Utada Hikaru's "Chikai"
> 
> also, it's International Kissing Day?! so here's a short, unedited thingy that doesn't really make sense HAHA?? :')

The first kiss was like a storm. Nothing but suppressed fury and anguish, all teeth, no time to breathe. He had kept his eyes firmly shut despite the corridor’s darkness. Kurapika didn’t want to see his face, his tattoo, his smug look that suspiciously spoke of victory.

Evil shouldn’t have tasted so sweet. Kurapika had pushed him away first, and Chrollo—didn’t resist. Chrollo could have killed him right there and then, could have driven his knife straight into Kurapika’s heart, but instead, he turned on his heel and left without another word.

The second was a lapse in judgment. Spontaneous, hesitant—a mistake. Bitter loathing burned in Kurapika’s stomach, threatened to scorch his throat, but the alcohol clouded his senses, muddled his thoughts, and all he could focus on at that moment was the other’s warmth. Even when Chrollo failed to respond, even when Chrollo grabbed his shoulders and shoved him off with a coldness Kurapika couldn’t register, he had stayed like some senile dog because Chrollo didn’t love him, he loved his body, and in his inebriated state, Kurapika’s brain had confused the two.

He had vomited the following morning, bile and self-disgust staring back at him from the porcelain sink, but he didn’t cry. He _couldn’t_ cry, not when he had exhausted all of his tears over graves of blood and ashes.

The third was a farewell, to whom, Kurapika wasn’t sure. Because they were both too broken to offer any semblance of support, because Kurapika had died with his clan, because Chrollo was never truly alive in the first place. But Kurapika still wondered. For a brief second, Kurapika had almost allowed himself to believe that maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe they could start anew.

One look into a mirror was enough to convince him otherwise. Dark, swollen skin under his eyes, hollowed cheeks. He had sealed his fate, and there was no turning back. Upon the final parting of their lips, Kurapika had punched him again, and for reasons unknown, Chrollo didn’t retaliate. Again. He had hoped that some wicked sense of satisfaction would swell in his chest, he had hoped that Chrollo would end this damned game for the sake of his sanity.

But neither of those things came to pass.

Chrollo had left him on the ground, shattered pieces, and all.

It was as if the gods themselves were punishing him for being alive.


	3. petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika learns about Chrollo's bucket list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift I wrote a while ago for [fatfetus/beefy](https://twitter.com/beefsona) and [kloffel](https://twitter.com/kloffel)!!! This short takes place in beefy's "Idle Town" universe, which is a high school AU! Chrollo and Kurapika are both high school students here, haha. I wasn't going to upload this, but I got their blessings so... here it is? :'D

Kurapika already hates having his time wasted. Regardless of how attractive— _obnoxious_ Chrollo is, he’s got an unfinished paper with his name on it, and there is no way he’s about to pull another all-nighter for something as stupid as Idleton’s flourishing bird-watching scene.

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and the fact that Chrollo had even managed to drag him out of his room is a monumental accomplishment of its own. Not that Kurapika would ever admit that, of course, considering his penchant for spectacularly fucking up any attempts to tell Chrollo to shove off. But Chrollo’s hand is warm in the chilly evening air, his smile bright against the orange sky, and when he tugs on Kurapika’s arm, he can’t help but follow without a second thought because  _he might actually be a fucking idiot._

An idiot whose heart flutters each time their gazes meet, each time Chrollo speaks, but again, Kurapika’s lips are sealed, and he’s perfectly fine with dragging these unfamiliar feelings to his grave.

“Where are you taking me?” Kurapika asks as Chrollo rounds another corner. Street gravel becomes neatly-trimmed grass, and Kurapika realizes that this is a shortcut to Nouveau Elementary.

Naturally, Chrollo doesn’t give him a verbal response like a normal human being _should_. His head briefly whips around to face Kurapika and he’s got that damned grin again, the one that takes Kurapika’s breath away and makes his chest constrict a little tighter. One long second passes, Chrollo’s attention is back on hauling him to gods-knows-where, and Kurapika’s mind is fuzzier than before. And maybe Chrollo had planned this beforehand, had known that a single beam would frazzle Kurapika’s poor, hormone-crazed teenage brain because they’re suddenly standing in front of an all-too-familiar set of monkey bars.

Despite his confusion, he remembers. The metal used to be yellow, back when Pairo would be his right-hand mate on their make-believe pirate ship.

Kurapika blinks twice while Chrollo shoots him a smug look of satisfaction. “Today’s forecast said there’s a sixty percent chance of rain,” he eventually admits, casually leaning against the rusting ladder like he’s supposed to be one of those cool jocks in some cheesy high school coming-of-age flick.

_(Except this isn’t a movie, he’s not a jock, he’s just Chrollo, the weird guy who never grew out of his grunge phase and drinks black coffee like it’s his lifeblood. And for whatever unholy reason, he actually does look pretty cool with the way the setting sun plays off his hair, and—)_

Fuck. He’s got it bad.

But not bad enough to distract him from the thunder that booms overhead. “What? Oh, for the love of—” Kurapika yanks his hand from Chrollo’s grip, and no, he is _not_ lamenting the loss of contact, nor is he going to dwell on how Chrollo had lightly squeezed his fingers before letting go. No, he’s not going to succumb to Chrollo’s stupid, _stupid_ smile or his deep, _deep_ eyes, twinkling with amusement in the dying sunlight. “So here we are, miles from my house, no umbrella… I’m going home.”

“Wait,” Chrollo interjects, grabbing Kurapika’s forearm so gently it’s almost _frustrating_. Maybe it’s the weird twist-pull in his stomach, or maybe it’s the tingle that runs down his spine, but there’s no denying his armor’s innate weakness for Chrollo being—well, himself, and Kurapika can’t take another step because he’s being held back by two forces at once, one being the other’s firm grip, the other being something a little more intangible. “Just a moment, please.”

And hell, Kurapika doesn’t _need_ to oblige, but the fact of the matter is that he _wants_ to. He’s never felt so weightless in his life, so powerless against a gesture as simple as fucking hand-holding.

When a cold drop of water lands in his eye, Kurapika has to suppress a curse because _of-fucking-course_ it’s the first of many. Without an umbrella, all he can do is stand there stupidly as it begins to pour.

Chrollo still hasn’t said a word. The rain is coming down in sheets and he’s still quiet, like he doesn’t owe Kurapika an apology or an explanation. And while Kurapika has _many_ choice words that are threatening to spill from his pursed lips, there’s just something incredibly calming, serene in the way Chrollo shuts his eyes and crosses his arms, in the way raindrops slide down his cheek and into the slip of his coat.

Kurapika’s mouth is dry, too dry despite the rain, and he can’t bring himself to speak. He breathes in, smells the grass and Chrollo’s shitty cologne, and _damn it_ , Chrollo’s a fucking enigma, a mystery he can’t figure out, but maybe—

Maybe he wouldn’t mind trying to figure him out, Kurapika thinks, because whatever _this_ is had crossed the boundary between nothing and everything a long time ago, and he… he’s quite sure that actually _everything_ is about Chrollo.

“Do you have a bucket list?”

“Not really,” Kurapika mumbles absentmindedly, “Why do you ask—?”

In hindsight, he really should’ve been paying attention because he would’ve definitely noticed how Chrollo had shifted a little closer, close enough for their breaths to intermingle, far enough to make Kurapika want to close the distance. And he would’ve definitely understood why he had suddenly felt slightly chapped lips against his own, moving slowly, too slowly, igniting a fire in his gut that threatens to _burn him alive._

Chrollo swipes his tongue experimentally across Kurapika’s bottom lip and he’s gone, his capacity for coherent thought completely shot, and Kurapika has to dig his fingers into the lapels of the other’s coat lest he wants to drown. It’s exhilarating, really, how shock turns to pure, unadulterated delight, how a kiss that lasts barely a minute feels much more like an eternity, and Kurapika never wants it to _stop_.

His lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen, but it takes everything in him to pull away. When Chrollo pecks the corner of his mouth again, Kurapika’s self-control nearly crumbles.

“Well, I can strike that off the list,” Chrollo remarks proudly, brushing away the hair that’s plastered to Kurapika’s forehead.

Kurapika scoffs and subconsciously licks his lips. “You wanted to kiss someone in the rain?”

“I wanted to kiss _you_ in the rain,” Chrollo replies without missing a beat, but Kurapika’s heart certainly skips a couple, and he can already feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Fantastic.

Chrollo opens his mouth, bullshit hanging off his tongue, and Kurapika’s ready for whatever he’s about to spout because he has no fucking room to talk, especially since he’s blushing, too. But instead of some idiotic taunt, Chrollo buries his face into his sleeve to sneeze, and Kurapika has to bite back a laugh because it’s probably the most endearing sound he’s ever heard.

It’s Kurapika’s turn to brush back Chrollo’s drenched bangs. “Idiot. You’re going to catch a cold.”

Chrollo simply shakes his head and smiles. Kurapika wonders if they’re going to regret this tomorrow or, hell, even in a few hours, but then he sees the quiet appreciation in his eyes, and Kurapika decides that it doesn’t really matter. Not when Chrollo is here, content and freely existing without the weight of the world on his shoulders.


	4. like gravity, but sweeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (It’s miraculous, really, how Kurapika doesn’t kill him on the spot. It’s an interesting development, and he’ll have to think on it a little more later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill time!!!
> 
> Prompt: _“I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth”_
> 
> Thanks for the ask, anon!!! If you'd like to send me a prompt or request, feel free to hmu on Tumblr!! I'm kind of slow thanks to work and school, but I'll do my best!!! ♥

This is far from ideal.

They’re swimming in a sea of wolves with nothing but the clothes on their backs, the chips on their shoulders. There are diplomats and actresses and socialites, all dressed to the nines, mingling and dancing in a room of gold and diamonds. And it’s nothing Chrollo can’t handle since he’s an expert at adopting a different persona within the blink of an eye—the perks of being born without an identity, he likes to think.

But Kurapika is both decent and terrible at blending in because his suit (mass-produced, probably, judging by its stitching) is dull from repeated use, his sleeves are too long and he’s in desperate need of a proper haircut, yet it’s his show-stopping smile and careful choice words that trap the ill-prepared, distracting even the staunchest skeptics from his questionable appearance.

It’s impressive. In another world, he would have made a fantastic Spider.

—Except, Kurapika’s façade is skin-deep.

He’s a bottle of lightning, ready to crack when they hear a laugh, deep and cold. In the liquor-fueled haze, Prince Tserriednich prowls like a lion. They don’t need to use _En_ to feel the ice trickle down their spines, and Kurapika’s sudden stillness is a pretty damn clear hint.

So when the prince suddenly looks their way, gaze deceptively blank but piercing nonetheless, Chrollo’s body moves without command because he isn’t one to take chances, and he doesn’t stop to question why there’s little to no resistance when he whirls them around with one fluid twist of his wrist, entrapping the other between his chest and the wall.

(It’s miraculous, really, how Kurapika doesn’t kill him on the spot. It’s an interesting development, and he’ll have to think on it a little more later.)

Later. Because they’re currently traipsing through a snake pit for intel on a man who undoubtedly fucks corpses, and his accomplice is probably a hair away from stabbing him in the back—Literally.

So, again, far from ideal.

“You have three seconds to unhand me before I—”

“Before you what? Throw a tantrum?” Chrollo hisses back, and it takes everything in him to stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. “The prince is less than fifteen meters away. If he recognizes you, we’re _both_ going to suffer the consequences. You’re a lot of things, Chain User, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

Kurapika scoffs, bitter and cynical. “I don’t recall this being part of the deal, and—did you just compliment me?”

He doesn’t remember. Words have a habit of spilling around Kurapika and it’s… disquieting. “If that’s what it’ll take to get you to keep quiet for a moment, then sure.”

Kurapika falls silent, then. There’s a couple to their immediate right, drunk on champagne and luxury perfumes, whispering sweet nothings into the other’s ears. They’re probably too far gone to notice the hostility swirling in Kurapika’s eyes, but he at least has enough common sense to maintain a low-profile.

Violins and idle chatter fade into white noise as Chrollo takes a second to think.

This really isn’t all that bad.

Despite being the literal personification of a blizzard, Kurapika is warm under him, his shallow exhales even warmer. The deep-set frown on his face is probably a permanent fixture at this point, but from this angle, Chrollo can see a faint splattering of freckles, dotting his skin like stars. He can see the barest hint of scarlet rimming his irises, a testament to the fiery spirit within. He can see bruises that speak of sleepless nights.

He can see rosy lips, slightly chapped and pressed into a thin line, and Chrollo can’t quite explain why his gaze lingers.

He can’t explain why Kurapika’s quiet mouth draws him in, why it makes him think that if he leans a little closer, he’ll find the answer to his question.

Kurapika breathes out, shaky and ground-breaking, and the spell is broken.

“Is he gone?”

“Not yet,” Chrollo murmurs as he’s pulled back to reality.

“You didn’t even turn around to check. Unbelievable.” Kurapika attempts to crane his neck to take a peek behind Chrollo. “What are you staring at, anyway?”

Maybe it’s his fight or flight response kicking in, but he doesn’t have to think twice before he smiles and replies with a simple, “You.”

The tips of Kurapika’s ears turn red, and the sight shouldn’t be so endearing. “Clearly. Now cut it out. You’re not paying any attention to Tserriednich. He could be at the other side of the room by now.”

“I don’t know,” Chrollo says, chest rumbling with a chuckle, “I think I quite like you like this—”

He doesn’t stop Kurapika from twisting out of his grasp because the spider-cracked glass between them had long since shattered.

“Perverted bastard,” Kurapika grumbles as he dusts off his terrible, tacky, _uniquely him_ suit. “That’s strike one, Lucilfer. Stick to the plan or the deal’s off.”

He’ll probably never have a chance to meet the other Kurapika. The one who laughs and grins and lives like he’s deserving. But Chrollo doesn’t know why Kurapika grabs his elbow to drag him towards a different corner, and he doesn’t know why he lets him.

Kurapika’s grip is strong, and Chrollo can’t hold back his grin. “Yes, sir.”


	5. like i mean something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His anger may linger, but it’s his regret that haunts him. It’s his rekindled hope, his newfound will to live that frightens him. And when his timer reaches zero, Kurapika’s corpse will sing of all he had foolishly given up, a vengeance that had swallowed him because he thought he wasn’t enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for Chocoholic221B!!! Prompt was, "things you said when we were the happiest we ever were"!!! ♥

In the space between dawn and sunrise, when Chrollo’s fingers twitch against the crook of his neck and the world slowly stirs from its slumber, Kurapika’s mind lingers on what could have been, and what could be. **  
**

There are mornings where he’s ripped from his dreamless sleep, hands caked with phantom blood, ears ringing with whispers from beyond the grave. The analog clock that sits next to their bed always reads five-thirty when he wakes up in a cold sweat, chest heaving painfully to fill his heavy lungs. He doesn’t cry for help, doesn’t attempt to extinguish the fire in his throat, in his gut, because when the agony subsides, it’s six-ten and he’s left with nothing but the sobering sting of reality. The truth is crystal clear—it shows in his brittle bones, in the dull ache that reverberates through his skull with each labored breath.

Try as he might, repentance can’t turn back time. He’s a machine that’s running out of fuel, and it’s no one’s fault but his own.

But there are other mornings, too. Mornings where the clock reads seven and Kurapika’s eyes flutter open to the soothing sound of Chrollo’s exhales, to beams of sunlight sneaking past shut curtains. His muscles still protest against the slightest hint of movement, but he can breathe and his mind is clear and he is  _alive._  Each passing second is slipping through his grasp, inching him towards the end of a rope he had intentionally cut short, yet he allows himself to forget for a moment, if only to savor the warmth of Chrollo’s legs intertwined with his.

He doesn’t know when his body will choose to fail him, when his heart will cease to beat. Death looms above Kurapika’s head like a guillotine, because sacrificing one’s life for those who no longer live doesn’t come without consequences.

His anger may linger, but it’s his regret that haunts him. It’s his rekindled hope, his newfound will to live that frightens him. And when his timer reaches zero, Kurapika’s corpse will sing of all he had foolishly given up, a vengeance that had swallowed him because he thought he wasn’t enough.

And that’s what he loathes the most. Kurapika had allowed his fury to define him. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten who he was, who he wanted to be. He’s a husk of a man without his rage, a ghost of the potential he had squandered because he never expected to make it this far.

But in the empty void that leaves him wanting, in the cracks he had inflicted upon himself through years of forced isolation, something is _growing_. Something tougher than steel, thicker than blood, and it all stems from the one who had broken him—the one who also promises to pick up the pieces and make him whole again.

He hadn’t planned on disembarking the Black Whale with his life intact, nor did he plan on finding any semblance of common ground with his sworn enemy. But the gods were generous in their mercy, granting him both of these things and a few years to get a taste of a peace he didn’t deserve. The quiet gave him time to think, time to allow his scars to heal, and Kurapika is—

Kurapika is content. Happy, even. He’s getting weaker by the hour—he had transitioned from crutches to a wheelchair just last week, and the searing sensation at the base of his spine makes him question his ability to sit up straight—yet it’s so, so easy to forget about the chains he had wrapped around his neck when Chrollo’s pressed up against his back, silently reassuring him that he isn’t going anywhere.

He wishes he could do the same, but he’s paying the price for pushing the boundary that separates men from legends, for abusing a power no human was ever meant to possess without serious repercussions. Kurapika’s mistakes are finally catching up to his body and he’s operating on borrowed time—there’s no telling if he’s going awaken the next morning, or the morning after that, or the morning after that.

When the clock strikes eight and Chrollo slowly gains consciousness, Kurapika can’t stop himself from uttering a quiet, “Why?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Chrollo eventually murmurs, voice thick with sleep and a note of adoration that never fails to take his breath away.

“Why do you,” Kurapika begins with a terse swallow—he can’t bring himself to utter the words that are burning a hole into his tongue, because nothing he could possibly say will change the fact that he’s  _dying._  But Kurapika forces himself to meet his gaze as he whispers, low and bitter, “why are you still here?”

The world stays still as Chrollo hums and pulls him in with a careful gentleness, as if he’s expecting Kurapika to shatter under his touch. “I thought that was obvious,” he says, slightly muffled against Kurapika’s mussed hair. His chest is rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, and Kurapika quickly finds himself relaxing to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“But I don’t understand. What could I possibly offer you when I—”  _don’t have that much time left,_  Kurapika almost blurts out. Not that he has a problem with speaking his mind, but Chrollo’s knowing stare gives him pause. He’s more alert than he usually is at this hour. Kurapika idly wonders if Chrollo can sense the worry that’s pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“You have a lot to offer. You’re very good company, and your taste in literature is impeccable,” Chrollo jests lightly, but then his expression grows somber, and the hand that’s carding through Kurapika’s hair ceases. “But you also make me feel like I mean something, and I thank you for that.”

To give meaning to someone who was born without a name, without a purpose—Chrollo’s answer is simple, but it’s also equal parts ground-breaking and profound because he’s crying, now. Two lone tears slide down his cheeks, down his neck. Kurapika huffs out a soft laugh, paying no mind to the fluid that’s rattling in his lungs, to the pins and needles that are piercing his innards. “That’s funny,” he says as he wipes Chrollo’s tears and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, “I could say the same for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like the idea of Kurapika succumbing to the time he had lost by using ET. I'm gonna have to keep this idea in mind for later, hm...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you wanna talk, feel free to find me on **[Tumblr](http://piyo-nii.tumblr.com/) | [FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/~piyonii) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/piyo_niiii) | [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/piyo_niiii)**


End file.
